Safe Ride
by mur xo
Summary: Clare and Eli have graduated from university and life takes them in separate directions. When Clare calls Eli one night in need of his assistance, will old feelings return?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. I don't own the the characters, the plot, or Degrassi. If I had a mind as creative as that then I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction. :)

**Author's Notes**: This is just going to be a relatively short three-shot that I wrote due to my extreme and unfortunate bout of writer's block. It got my creative juices flowing again, which I am grateful for. I wrote it from Eli's point-of-view and first person is something I rarely use when I write, so feedback would be very much appreciated. I should be posting the rest of it (it's already written) within the next few days. Please enjoy and leave me a quick comment/review. :)

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**SAFE RIDE**

**PART I**

"_No one is harder on me than myself, or so it seems, and some say that you are my curse, my own worst enemy. I think they're wrong…"_

_She _broke up with _me, _again. I was stupid for believing that trying once again would lead to some kind of an epiphany. We hadn't worked once. What had made me believe so adamantly that we would work if we were given a second chance? Once again I was left broken hearted and this time truly alone, in our, now_ my_, pricey condo in New York City. I had followed Clare to the Big Apple four years ago, when her only real desire was to attend NYU for broadcast journalism. I had always supported her dreams, so I had done the obvious.

Unfortunately, it was Clare's dreams which ultimately led to the dysfunction of our relationship and the untimely end to our romance. She had received the perfect job, one she could not pass up. Clare was asked by a global news station to become a part of their travel journalism team. When Clare had broken the news to me, I had been thrilled for her, congratulating her profusely until she explained that this meant she would be traipsing around the seven continents for four months at a time. I hadn't been particularly fond of the idea, but I was still willing to give a long distance relationship a go. Clare had refused, and sternly told me she thought we'd be better off as friends rather than lovers. She wanted to see the world and she had to take on this expedition single-handedly, with no strings attached.

I, Eli Goldsworthy, had obviously been just a mere pesky string to Clare Edwards, so I had to let her leave me.

It had been eight months now since Clare had moved out. It had been six months since I had talked to her. I didn't know her whereabouts, her permanent location, her telephone number, or anything about the girl I had formally been absolutely head over heels in love with. The pain still stung, but the rawness had numbed and I was able to pick myself up and make a living. I became a freelance journalist, taking on more projects than I admittedly should have, filling the void of Clare with monstrous projects which I've taken great pride in.

Yes, it had been twenty-four weeks since I had heard any word from Clare Edwards. That is, until my phone started buzzing at one in the morning, waking me up from a peaceful slumber.

"'Ello?"

"Uh…"

"Who's this?" Concern had started to sweep into my voice, my mind wandering briefly to Cece and Bullfrog. I hoped that everything was okay on their end.

"Um…"

My concern turned quickly to agitation as my patience began to wear thin. Who would call at such an absurd time and not even have the decency to answer the most basic question?

"I think you have the wrong number," I finally spat angrily as an empty silence filled the speakers. My index finger hovered over the 'End Call' button.

"N-no. Is this Eli?"

The voice sounded familiar but different. I was convinced my overly exhausted mind was playing cruel tricks on me. There was no way the voice belonged to who I thought it did. Clare Edwards was gone, probably to Africa or Saudi Arabia, someplace exotic and far away. She would have absolutely no reason to be contacting me, especially at one in the morning.

"It is. And this would be…?"

"It's… It's Clare."

I let out a puff of air, one of my hands reaching up to scrub over my unshaven, tired face.

"Clare," I repeated, the very name sounding odd rolling off of my dry tongue.

"Are you still living in the City?"

_The City_. Even as an outsider, Clare still spoke pretentiously in regards to New York. I found a smirk growing on my face, amused at her use of the fond nickname.

"I am."

I heard a strange sound in the background, horns honking, cars whizzing and a lot of voices. Where, oh where, _is_ little Edwards?

"But I'm sure you didn't call me at such an ungodly hour to ask about my current living arrangements," I prompted, not necessarily wanting the conversation to end, but sending her a verbal nudge to get to the point behind the spontaneous phone call.

"No, of course not," she spoke carefully, trying to make sure her words sounded steady. To my ears, she sounded so unlike herself, so _different_. Time could do that to people, though, I knew. Time changed everyone and everything.

"This…oh God Eli, this is so embarrassing." The words flew out of Clare's mouth so fast that I wasn't quite sure I had heard her correctly. They slurred together, mixing up, syllables connecting upon syllables until the whole sentence was just mashed together.

"What is?" I tried to keep patience in my voice. I was always patient with Clare, even when she didn't deserve it.

"I… I had a little bit too much to drink…"

A-ha! So that was what this was. A drunken late night call to an ex-lover, a call she would certainly regret come morning.

"And I seemed to have lost my purse… I really don't remember what I did with it. I was walking one minute and the next…" Clare continued, her voice trailing off in confusion.

"I'm sure it'll turn up," I replied, because I really didn't know what else to say.

"I don't have any money for a cab," The realization of her own statement dawned on her and I could hear the pout in her voice. The thought of her full lips tugging downward in a frown almost broke my heart all over again. What could I do? I was probably thousands of mile away from where she was. I could be of no use to her.

"Uh, I was wondering if you would, maybe, pick me up."

Was she that inebriated? I cleared my throat, pausing, trying to buy time which I knew was precious when it came to speaking with her.

"Where are you?" I finally asked the question that had been on my mind since I answered the call.

"Between Broadway and Fifth. At Roxy's, our old place!" Clare's voice lifted happily, a giggle erupting and bubbling out of her mouth.

"You-You're in New York?" I was stunned.

"Yes. Please, Eli, pick me up?"

So I said yes, because I knew, no matter what, I would always be wrapped around Clare Edwards' little finger. If she needed me, I would be there, even if we weren't together any more.

"Stay put," I gently scolded, knowing how adventurous she tended to become when alcohol poisoned her system.

"I will," she reassured messily, hanging up her end after a few obvious tries.

XXXXX

I had trouble finding her. I was sure that I could pick out the girl I had grown so accustomed to from anywhere. I was wrong. I thought I would just be able to pick her up easily, but I had no such luck. I had to actually park my car and finding a parking spot at such a late night hour was virtually impossible. I did it, though, for Clare.

When I found her she wasn't where she had said she would be and I felt anger bubble up inside of me. I was doing _her_ a favor. The very least she could do, after calling me out of the blue after months of silence, was abide by my easy-to-follow instructions. My fists clenched uncontrollably as I stormed over towards her huddled figure. She wasn't alone. Another female was beside her, the other woman's hand resting on Clare's shoulder. The pair of them were situated on a bench, a few blocks away from our old hangout spot, the place Clare _promised_ she would be. If this was some sick, twisted joke, some horrid jab of fate, I would be positively furious and for once, perhaps unforgiving.

The closer I got, the more the rage swarmed inside of me. Here she was, _socializing_, while I was busting my scrawny ass trying to answer her desperate S.O.S.

"Honey, are you sure you don't want me to call someone for you?"

I heard the slightly older, wiser, distinctly sober voice of Clare's companion as I got closer, my brisk walk slowing as my curiosity got the better of me. I knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but somehow I couldn't help myself.

"No, I-I c-called someone," Clare sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand in one swift motion. "He'll be here… H-he w-will."

The stutter, the sniffle, the tightness in her voice all made me realize that Clare had been crying. My gaze shifted downwards, my grudge with Clare disappearing, replacing itself with guilt. I shouldn't have cared as much as I did. Logically, I knew that. Emotionally, my heartstrings went to war every time Clare Edwards showed the tiniest bit of upset. For a girl as beautiful and talented as she was, Clare deserved nothing but the absolute best. I had believed that since our very first meeting, in the parking lot of Degrassi.

"I know you said that an hour ago, sweetie, but still no one's here. Listen, how about I take you home? I get off my shift in twenty minutes anyways."

Clare shook her head. "He'll be here."

The woman looked doubtful but began to rub her hand against Clare's shoulder as Clare's cries increased in intensity.

"No woman should have to deal with that kind of behavior. I'm so sorry it happened to you, especially when I was on the clock."

My senses tingled at the words, trying to decipher the meaning behind them. What kind of behavior was this lady referring to, exactly? Clare looked shaken up and the person who caused her that kind of pain would pay, I swore my life on it.

I took a few more steps, allowing my presence to be known. As the older woman, who I finally recognized as one of Roxy's bartenders, gazed in my direction, Clare turned her head, her red-rimmed eyes meeting mine.

I gasped the minute I saw her face. Her cheeks were rosy red, not in a pleasant flushed way, but in a manner which led me to believe that she had been upset for quite some time. On the phone she hadn't sounded distressed in the least bit. If I had known, I would have gotten here sooner. Or had my late impending arrival led to the events which had made Clare so distraught? On her right cheek was the distinct outline of a hand. The imprint of five digits and a beefy palm contrasted with the rest of Clare's face, even with her pink cheeks.

"What—?"

"Eli," Clare stood up, her crying ceasing at the sight of me, as if I was her savior, her hero, which made my stomach pool with self-hatred.

I couldn't peel my eyes off of her face. I knew the expression on my features must have been one of pure horror, with my eyes widened madly, my mouth opened in disgust. I couldn't shake off the feeling I got when I reminded myself that someone did this to Clare, innocent, caring sweet-tempered Clare. I wanted to throw up.

"Who-?"

Again I was cut off, this time by Clare's pleading look, her eyes meaningfully imploring mine. If I hadn't known her so well I would have continued my line of questioning. I knew she didn't need that from me, or even want it, at least not yet. Her eyes moved away from mine, flickering over to the other woman a bit shyly.

"Thank you for everything," she said sincerely and I wanted to show my appreciation too, for taking care of Clare in my absence, but it wouldn't have been right. _It wasn't my place_, not anymore.

The woman offered a sad smile and stood up, beginning to walk down the street, most likely to go back to her shift.

"I couldn't find parking, that's why I was late."

That was my version of an apology and it was the best Edwards was going to get out of me. I couldn't bring myself to tell her I was sorry for not getting their sooner, because saying I was sorry would be an acceptance of fault. Saying I was sorry would make it real. Saying I was sorry would mean that I was the cause for whatever happened to Clare tonight and I couldn't deal with that kind of blame.

"It's okay. I remember the parking here," Clare said, her breathing slightly ragged. It was then that I remembered she had been intoxicated when she called me. The girl on the phone and the girl in front of me seemed worlds apart. The former girl had been happy, bubbly and carefree. This girl was damaged. _I _had _damaged_ her.

I walked with my hands stuffed inside of my pockets, trying to keep myself warm in the cool March air. I allowed Clare to set the pace, knowing my legs were much longer than hers. She stumbled once, when we were at a street crossing, the heel of her shoe catching on the edge of the dented curb.

"Oh!" Clare cried out as her ankle twisted slightly, my arm catching her by some miracle, steadying her before she crashed to the cement.

At my touch her glassy eyes came up to reach mine, her bottom lip quivering slightly. "I'm sorry," she offered, like _she_ had anything to apologize for.

"Don't be," I responded gruffly, more harshly than I meant, I realized, as large tears fell down her cheeks.

I placed one of my hands onto her back, both to steady her and offer her comfort. She wobbled a bit more and I began to take notice of the alcohol's effects on her body.

The rest of the walk remained silent, but it wasn't uncomfortable. There was so much for us to say to one another but it wasn't the time or the place for any deep discussion. We both weren't in the right frame of mind. Despite the cold, my palms were getting sweaty, unease unhinging my mental state. I had been doing so well without her again, my medication stabilizing my moods and balancing me like they were supposed to. Just a few minutes in Clare Edwards' presence had my paranoia, my more _intense_ side, acting up again. My hands began to shake slightly with anxiety. My body needed the magic pill that would make these feelings go away. Someone else was hurting and once again it was because of me. _I_ hurt _everyone_, and the worst part was I _knew_ it.

Clare must have noticed my tremors because the next thing I knew her hand had enveloped my free one, the one that wasn't propped against the small of her back. She squeezed it, intertwined our fingers, and I knew she understood. After all, she had been the one to help me through some of the worst of it. Bipolar disorder was a forever thing and Clare had told me she accepted that, but I knew she didn't. Yet here she was, obviously in her own state of distress, concerned over me.

I pulled my hand out of her grasp, shoving it back into my pocket, childishly hiding it. I watched as her cheeks burned darker, if that were even possible, but I kept silent. I turned a corner and hit the unlock button on my keys, nodding for Clare to get in the car. She wordlessly obeyed my silent request and got in, buckling herself into the seat.

It was then that I noticed that she had bruises lining her wrists. Deep red lines turning into harsh violet shapes stuck out alarmingly against her pale skin and I wondered how I could have possibly missed it earlier. I stopped my unsteady hand, leaving the key in the ignition, once again staring. I hated myself. I hated myself for allowing this to happen to Clare, for not being there when she asked me to be, when she had so obviously needed a friend in all of her drunken vulnerability.

As she noticed my hesitation, Clare tore her gaze from out her window to me, and nibbled on her lip once she realized where my eyes laid. I set my jaw in anger, my temples pulsating menacingly. Whoever hurt Clare, I would kill. All I saw was red, blinding red. I took my hand and gently traced one of the contusions, watching Clare grimace at the slight pressure my touch applied. My eyes narrowed and I pulled my hand away, gripping the steering wheel with everything I had.

She just watched me, watched the turmoil of emotions pulling me under. I heard her swallow nervously and I knew she was trying to assess my mood. I was the last person she needed to deal with tonight. Why had she called _me_? I felt her hand touch my arm briefly and heard her clear her throat.

"Just drive, Eli," she instructed, leaving no room for argument.

So I drove.

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Reviews from wonderful _readers like you_ would be _greatly _appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. I don't own the the characters, the plot, or Degrassi. If I had a mind as creative as that then I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction. :)

**Author's Notes**: I edited, re-edited, destroyed and re-created this chapter so many times it is not even funny! I'm still not sure I'm happy with how it turned out. Hope it's not too painful to read! Please enjoy and leave me a quick comment/review. :)

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**SAFE RIDE**

**PART II**

"_They could say we lack the progress, they could say that we're a mess, they could say we'll never make it, I know we're better than their test..."_

I didn't consciously know what I was driving towards. My foot had tapped the gas pedal on its own accord, at Clare's insistence. I was driving in the direction of my condo, but I knew that wouldn't be the wisest decision. I had spent so much time deleting Clare from my life, sifting through every object I owned and getting rid of those that reminded me of her, that I knew if I brought Clare back, even for just a moment, her essence would permanently taint the small living quarters. I couldn't risk that, but I honestly didn't know where else I could bring her, especially in the current condition she was in.

"I need to get a hotel," I heard Clare mutter tearfully, and I was surprised to see the tear tracks staining her pink cheeks. The way our trains of thoughts seemed to merge together onto the same track never ceased to amaze me.

I moved my hand in an involuntary attempt to comfort her, but I stopped myself. I knew she saw my hesitation and I heard her cries intensify at the gesture. Of course I'd bring her more pain when she was already suffering enough as it was. She didn't need me there to mess it all up further.

"B-but my purse…" She continued with soft sobs, her head frantically shaking back and forth.

"You'll stay at the condo tonight," I replied sternly, because I realized a little too late that it was the only realistic option.

"Oh, Eli… I couldn't... I don't want to impose."

I shot her a meaningful look, silently telling her that I was not willing to negotiate my offer. She would be staying with me and that was that. If she had resorted to calling _me _when she was in trouble, Clare was obviously desperate. There was no way I could just turn her loose into the wild, even if my common sense was telling me that _that_ would be the logical course of action. I could have just brought her to the nearest hotel, paid the nightly rate myself, and wiped my hands clean of the entire situation. But with a look at her tear-stained face, her bruise-lined arms and her hand-print imprinted face, I knew I could never turn my back on Clare Edwards. No matter what our circumstances might be, I could never, and I would never, turn my back on the girl I loved.

"I'm s-sorry… so, so sorry," she mumbled, burying her face in her hands, her sobs growing out of control.

"Hey…" I whispered softly, trying my best to be gentle, even though my current mental state was questionable. "Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong."

"I did, I did!" Her body shook with tremors and I felt my heartbeat quicken, the unsteady rhythm of it pounding against my ribcage, almost excruciatingly.

"Everything will work out, Clare, okay?" I hoped everything would work out. I needed her to calm down and talk to me. I had a desperate itch to find out what happened so I could protect her from it ever happening again.

"N-not this time."

The sudden change in her demeanor bothered me. During the walk back towards my car, Clare had been strong, a rock. All of a sudden, it was as if she had snapped. Maybe the initial shock of the encounter she had was disappearing, or maybe the alcohol was finally wearing off and reality was coming into perspective. Seeing Clare like this upset me to the point of near panic, but I knew I had to keep my emotions under control. I focused on breathing, in and out deeply, just like my therapist had taught me. These coping mechanisms became my life support over the past few years, and they were proving to come in handy now.

I slowly began to calm down and this time, when I reached out a hand towards Clare, I allowed myself to envelop her smaller hand, which seemed so frail now in my light grasp.

"It will work out, I know it will. We'll talk later, once we get you calmed down some, alright?" I asked nervously, the initial authority I had hoped to carry in my voice nonexistent. "If you want to talk, I mean," I added quickly, because I knew no matter what, I would never place Clare in a situation where I knew she would be uncomfortable.

"Th-thank you," she stuttered, choking on noisy sobs. Her face was a mess of smeared makeup, tears and sweat, stray hairs sticking onto her face despite the cool temperature. I could hear her breath hitching and I was worried that she wasn't getting enough oxygen into her system. My initial plan of keeping things professional, as detached as physically possible in order to protect my own heart, went out the window. There was no way I could watch Clare suffer and stand by stoically, it wasn't in my nature to allow anyone to crumble apart alone. Besides, this was _Clare_, and everything about her was personal to me.

I ran my thumb over the back of her hand, making soft hushing noises which I hoped she would find comforting. I tried to remember what used to calm her down, since it wasn't that long ago when I had the respectable duty of keeping her happy. I remembered music was her escape, it always had been. My hands quickly flicked the button on the dashboard, turning the radio onto my favorite rock station. I fumbled with the dial until it was on a more current radio station, one Clare would surely prefer over my taste of bands. I let the soft music fill the car while my finger continued to rub smooth circles onto Clare's hand. It seemed to do the trick, as Clare's breathing evened out and her sobs were reduced to silent tears.

I pulled into the parking garage of my residential development, weaving my way through the concrete maze until I reached the tenth level. I pulled into my designated parking space, the spot I paid well over a grand a year for, and shifted the car into park. My hands were shaking again, not as badly as before, but the tremors were noticeable. I was nervous. _Clare_ made me _nervous_.

Slowly, I unbuckled my seatbelt, patiently waiting for Clare to do the same. I watched as she had a short struggle with the restraint, before freeing herself. I studied her face, worry coursing through my veins faster than my blood. I saw the wince that pulled on her facial features as her hand moved over towards the car door, the sudden movement obviously inflicting pain. Her reflex made me wonder just how hurt she actually was. It seemed worse now, much worse. On the streets of New York City, Clare had been walking fine, conversing with me, acting _normal_. Now she was silent, except for the cries that occasionally broke the awkward still air.

"Clare…?" I broke the silence, my eyes wide and shining with concern for the younger girl. She was getting worse and I didn't know why. I didn't even know what, or _who_, did this to her. How was I supposed to help her if I had no information?

"I… Eli…"

She bit her bottom lip painfully, her eyes squeezing shut, creating an expression of pure misery on her face. It broke my fragile heart right in half.

"What _happened_, Clare?" I breathed out in a soft whisper, disbelief at the sight in front of me dripping in my voice.

"I'm sorry," she repeated with a flurry of new tears, and I knew I had to respond fast if I was going to find answers.

"Look at me," I demanded, the tone in my voice the sternest I had ever used.

She refused to meet my gaze as she bit down even harder on her bottom lip, specks of blood being drawn from the forced pressure she applied.

"Clare, _look_ at _me_," I said, even more authoritatively, my body inching closer to hers.

I was met with a shake of curls, as her head turned in the opposite direction, her face pointing towards the window. I wasn't sure if her defiance was conscious or not.

I moved closer, my hands reaching out towards her face in an attempt to move her chin, to make sure our eyes met. As she noticed my outstretched limbs, she panicked, her body shying away from me, flinching.

I immediately dropped my arms, my mouth opening in absolute horror. She thought I was going to _hurt_ her that I was going to physically cause her body harm. I hadn't even realized I gasped out loud until I saw Clare's face soften, her eyes now apologetic once again.

"I'm sorry," she hurriedly said, for what seemed like the one millionth time this evening.

"It's okay, nothing to be sorry for, remember?" I kept my voice so low, barely a whisper, in fear that if I spoke any louder it would break her. "But… you couldn't possibly think… Clare, I would _never_ hurt you."

She nodded her head quickly, a bit too eager to accept my statement. Her response was alarming me and I took another deep breath, trying to regain my composure.

"Who hurt you so bad, Clare? Who broke you?" The minute the question was out in the open I regretted it. _I _broke her. If I had been sane and stable, she would have stayed with me, she wouldn't have been out at Roxy's tonight and she wouldn't have had to endure any of the pain she was currently suffering.

"I don't think I can move, Eli," she whispered, holding onto her stomach.

"Do you want to go to the hospital?"

That was where she needed to be, I was certain of it. If her state was deteriorating this rapidly, the only care she should be receiving was from a doctor.

"No!"

Her response was quick and filled with fright. I put my hands up in front of me in surrender, allowing her this one bit of comfort. I knew how much she hated doctors and hospitals, white coat syndrome she used to call it. If she didn't want their involvement then I wouldn't make her, not yet anyway. If it got bad enough, I knew I wouldn't have much of a choice.

"I'll carry you."

"No, its fine, I'll… just give me a minute."

"You just try to relax, okay?"

I opened my door and got out, making my way to the passenger side as swiftly as I could. When I opened her door I carefully slipped my arms around Clare's small body, which I noted had gotten a lot smaller than the last time I had held it in my arms. I supported her shoulders with one arm and her legs with my other arm, kicking the car door shut behind me and making my way towards the elevators. I felt Clare squirm a bit before turning her head into my neck, a hiss of pain escaping her lips.

"Am I hurting you?" I asked, trying to subtly rearrange her in my arms so I wouldn't touch anywhere she was bruised.

"No, no, but hurry please," her small voice said next to my ear, her breath tickling my neck.

Having Clare in such close proximity to me was making my heart ache with pain, but I knew it was nothing compared to the physical agony Clare was dealing with. Holding her like this just made everything seem so normal, almost as if the past year hadn't happened and we were once again the couple everyone envied.

I picked up my pace, taking longer strides until I stood in front of the elevator door, pressing the 'up' button. I was grateful that it was so late and that no one was outside. Some people may have recognized Clare and I didn't want to have to shield myself, or her, from their suspicious glares. I knew it looked strange enough for a man to be carrying a disheveled woman home at such a late hour. It gave nosy people the wrong impression. I didn't need any other condo tenant who remembered Clare to see me carrying her back into the condo, our old _home_.

Clare's arms wrapped themselves around my neck and my heart fluttered at the tiny gesture. It was an ounce of affection from Clare that I had been dreaming about for the past six months. I couldn't help but hold her just a bit closer to me, my body feeling whole again for the first time in awhile. Clare was my missing link, she completed me, and just the mere thought of feeling okay again was dangerous. Come morning she would be gone, out of my life once more and this encounter would be nothing more than a fleeting memory, for the both of us.

I walked us into the elevator, hitting the button to the twelfth story. My mind flashed back to when Clare and I first found this place, when she had been stressed about starting university, finding a job and succeeding with her newly found independence. We had managed to pull through. I scheduled my classes for nights and worked at a retail store my sophomore and junior year during the days, allowing Clare to work shorter night shifts. This allowed her to keep focused on her education, which I knew she highly valued.

I made the sacrifice for Clare, so we would be able to afford the tiny condo, since NYU had no housing left for us by the time we handed in our filled out acceptance forms. Our schedules had been tight, and money had been even tighter, but it didn't seem so bad back then. We had each other and that was all we had needed. What happened to us?

The 'ding' of the elevator rang, signaling our arrival onto the twelfth floor. I stepped out, shook my head a bit to keep the memories away, and dug out my key. I was the first door on the left, number 1202. 1202 was _our_ number and we had chosen that condo out of the assortment of available units because it was significant to us. Sure, accepting number 1202 meant that we had a smaller bedroom, a closet for a bathroom and a kitchen which was impossible to cook in, but Clare had told me that this condo was _fate_. December 2nd was the day that we began dating again, for the second time. As I slid the key into the lock I let out a dry chuckle, bitter at the _good_ all of that _fate_ did for me.

I nudged the door shut behind me, closing it tight with a final kick of my foot. I eased Clare down onto the couch carefully, afraid of causing her more harm. Once she was safely lying down, with her head propped against the arm of the furniture, I noticed she was shivering. Her face was gleaming with sweat but her body was shaking and covered in goose bumps. I immediately ripped the afghan off of the nearby rocking chair and draped it over her body, my concern over Clare rising dangerously.

"Eli…" she whined pitifully, and I knelt down next to her, one of my hands stroking her cheek, my fingers trying to un-stick the hair that was glued to her face.

"Are you cold, Clare?"

Clare nodded and huddled herself further into the couch, her back firmly pressed against the plaid patterned fabric.

"I really think we should get you to a doctor." I didn't want to scare her, but I didn't know what was wrong. If she was shaking from shock, then she needed some sort of a sedative, some mild tranquilizer which would ease her mind a bit. It wasn't healthy for anyone to have their system this shot, I knew from experience. If it was worse than that, then Clare definitely needed a doctor to give her some medicine, to make everything all better. I wished it were that simple.

"No… I'm… I'm scared," she admitted and I knew that it was a big admission for her to make, one that I didn't take lightly. Clare was obnoxiously stubborn, determined to stay strong and independent.

"You're safe, Clare. You're safe here, always," I whispered, moving my other hand onto her back and rubbing gentle circles there.

Again, I heard Clare take a sharp intake of breath, another expression of pain. I moved my hands to the hem of her shirt, pulling the material upwards, determined to find the source of all her pain.

"Stop!" I heard Clare shout, her hands trying to block my movements, but I continued.

The minute I had her skin exposed, I felt my stomach drop. Her abdomen was covered in bruises, some old, some new, painted painfully against her skin. I knew then that this hadn't just happened tonight, whatever Clare was going through was ongoing. I swallowed a lump that had been forming in my own throat as I stood up, blind rage coursing through me. I shoved my shaking hands in my pockets and began to frantically pace back and forth. Whoever did this to her, well that motherfucker was _dead_. I would bury him myself. She looked so small and innocent and she _was_. Clare, the girl who held onto her religion through thick and thin, placed loyalty and friendship before caring for herself, she was a _Saint_ and someone had blemished her innocence.

I could hear Clare crying heavily, but my mind was preoccupied with hatred towards the culprit of those marks. Every fiber in my being was steaming and shaking and I didn't even realize I had slammed my clenched fist into the wall until I heard a petrified scream and saw a decent sized hole in front of me.

I saw the horror on Clare's face and felt the fear radiating off of her body. She was afraid of me. I could tell. I inhaled heavily, holding my breath for thirty-seconds, before releasing it. I repeated the breathing technique and walked into the kitchen. I opened the cabinet and shakily reached for a bottle, depositing two white pills into the palm of my hand. I popped them into my mouth and swallowed them dryly, closing my eyes as the bitter taste coated my throat.

Clare was staring at me nervously, tears still coursing down her cheeks. I felt the familiar pull of guilt tug at my insides and I felt a new kind of fury, one inspired by _self_-hatred. I walked over to Clare, stopping in front of her, dropping once again to my knees. I saw her back away slightly, her widened eyes full of emotion.

"I'm sorry, Clare, I'm sorry," I started, putting my hand on one of her shoulders. "How could _anyone_ do this to you? Tell me, please. Tell me what happened."

"Eli, I can't…You'll just get mad," she nodded towards the debris lying on the floor, pieces of chipped paint from the destroyed wall. "I'm not your p-problem…"

Normally that statement would have crushed me, but the way Clare said it, with such dejection in her voice, I couldn't help but feel anything but concern for her.

"You are no one's _problem_. You're never a _problem_." I paused, trying to get myself together. "You know that I'll always be here for you. No matter what we have been through, no matter what happens in the future, I promise you Clare, that I will _always_ be here if you need me."

"That isn't fair to you."

Her voice was clouded with tears and I was worried that if she didn't calm down, she would make herself sick. Wordlessly I stood up and picked her body up off of the couch. I sat down where she once was and placed her in my lap. It had been a long time since I had done this, but I knew it was the fastest way to calm her down. Clare had some nasty breakdowns throughout her college years, mostly stress induced, and I had learned that rocking her in my lap, much like a mother did with an upset child, was the type of comfort she found the most solace in.

I began rocking us both, slowly, resting her head against my shoulder. I placed the palm of my hand on her chest, feeling her erratic heartbeat, and I frowned.

"Do you think you can calm down for me?" I asked her, my eyebrows knit together in worry.

I felt her nod against me and I heard her sniffle. "I'm sorry," she whispered lowly, and the expression on her face looked like she was holding her breath.

"Hey, nothing to be sorry for, _nothing_, alright? You did _nothing_ wrong," I reassured, not knowing why she needed me to keep telling her this. Her apologies seemed so second-natured now, it didn't seem right

"That's not what he thinks," I heard her whisper, her voice sounding weary. Her chest had stopped heaving so wildly, something I was entirely grateful for, but her words had me on edge.

"Who thinks?"

Clare was silent and I ceased my rocking motion immediately, pulling her away from me so I could see her face. Her eyes were closed and her breathing had evened out.

Still, I tried once more.

"_Who_ thinks, Clare?" I shook her gently, but she just moaned and held onto me tighter.

I let out a groan, letting my frustration get the best of me. I began to lift her up, set on carrying her to my bed and making her as comfortable as I could. I would take the couch tonight, I didn't mind. But Clare's soft voice stopped me before I had the chance to move.

"Don't leave me."

The words were filled with such desperation that I felt my body freeze, and I backed myself up against the couch once again, resettling Clare in my arms.

"Never," I said firmly, petting her curls. "Never," I repeated, dropping a chaste kiss on her temple.

I felt her adjust herself before she fell back to sleep once again. The feeling of her in my arms was so powerful, so overwhelming, that I knew if I hadn't been medicated, I would have fallen apart. I missed her and I wished our reunion had been met with much better circumstances.

I was letting her back into my heart again, and it had only been a couple of hours. Clare Edwards always managed to sneak her way back into my life, right when I least expected it.

Maybe this time she would stay.

Maybe this time she wouldn't.

Maybe this time we would both fall apart.

* * *

Reviews from wonderful _readers like you_ would be _greatly _appreciated! Love you guys! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. I don't own the the characters, the plot, or Degrassi. If I had a mind as creative as that then I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction. :)

**Author's Notes**: Thanks to all of those who reviewed, they meant so much to me! Sorry for the delay - my laptop died! I just got my new one, but I lost all of what I had written before. So, this took a different turn! I changed a bit to adjust with the new promos. I hope you enjoy! Please "comment", or you know, review! Please read and enjoy!

* * *

**SAFE RIDE**

**PART III**

**__**_"When I'm with you there is no worries, when I'm with you there is no shame..."_

I awoke with a jolt when I heard the frantic scream of my name. Fear flooded my body, rendering me momentarily immobile. I opened my eyes wearily, allowing myself to be extra cautious as the sight in front of me came into view.

"Eli!" The girl on my lap repeated, her tone full of raw panic.

My mind pulled me back to the present, tugging me out of what was left of my restless slumber. Clare's limp body lay across my lap, tossing and turning, damp with sweat. The word, the single syllable that kept passing from her lips, was _my_ name.

Her eyes were still closed and she appeared to still be unconscious, but that did nothing to ease my mind. I placed one hand on Clare's back, tapping her gently, silently begging her to wake up. Her face was far from peaceful, so unnatural compared to the many times I had witnessed her sleeping form while we were together. Her facial features were more tense, twisted, traces of residual pain tugging and wrinkling her perfect complexion. Just staring at her made my heart skip a few beats. Clare wasn't herself. Clare wasn't _my_ Clare, and nothing about that was alright.

"Eli..."

Once again my name dribbled out of her mouth, this time in a much softer tone, barely audible. My ears were trained to pick up even the tiniest sound Clare made, because I had gotten used to listening to her nonsensical, sleep-induced mutterings. I had once found humor in them, teasing her mercilessly in the mornings with some of the crazy phrases she had said the night before. Now they were the furthest thing from funny. Now they had me worried sick. We were no longer together. We were no longer reliant on each other for our most basic needs. We were no longer Clare and Eli. So why was Clare so desperately calling out my name in her plagued slumber?

"Clare?" I kept my voice soft, not wanting to frighten her. I continued tapping her back, hoping it would work to awaken her.

She stirred at the motion and her hands found the fabric of my shirt, her fists grabbing at the worn cloth. She made a strange sound, a strangled sob, her body shaking. Yet she still slept, oblivious to all of the trauma she was inflicting upon herself, ignorant to all of the anxiety she was causing me.

"Shh, Clare," I whispered close to her ear over and over, not knowing if she could hear me or not. Perhaps her subconscious would react to the soothing mantra and successfully calm Clare down.

"Don't let him," she mumbled shakily, her fists grabbing tighter onto me. "Eli, don't let him," she repeated, her eyes fluttering open this time. Her gaze was cloudy and full of confusion, as if she was in a trance she couldn't shake. "Don't let him hurt me."

"He will never hurt you again," I responded with finality, intent on making sure that was the case. I would never let another human being who posed a threat to Clare get close enough to her to cause her so much pain ever again. I made that promise before and I had broken it. I had failed. I would do everything in my power to assure that the vow would not get broken again.

The reassurance seemed to subdue her and her eyelids closed once more, allowing the exhaustion to overwhelm her. I waited long enough to make sure Clare was okay before I closed my own eyes and a nightmare-filled sleep enveloped me.

XXXXX

When I awoke in the morning, Clare was not on my lap. I thought that maybe I had dreamed the whole thing, maybe I really was as crazy as they all thought. I looked around the entire living room, my eyes glancing at every possible nook and cranny, desperately searching for some sign of Clare's presence. There was no way I was _that_ lucrative. She had to have been here. I could still smell the subtle vanilla scent of Clare's shampoo. Surely the most manic of episodes wouldn't be taken as far as that.

Then I saw it, my saving grace, the one mismatched item in the room that proved I wasn't losing it. In the corner next to the door was a pair of black heels, heels that had to have belonged to none other than Clare Edwards herself. I let out a quick puff of air that I hadn't realized I had been holding in, silently offering a prayer to a God I didn't believe in. If Clare was here then there was still a chance to fix things, to fix _her_. I couldn't allow her to leave today without getting to the bottom of whatever it was that was going on with her. As much as I didn't want to involve myself with the girl who broke my heart a countless number of times, I could never stand by while she was suffering so immensely.

I stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of my dark jeans, the strange creases living proof that Clare had slept in my lap last night. I ran a hand through my unruly hair that was getting annoyingly long, in an honest effort to prevent the hair from falling into my eyes. A soft shuffle from my bedroom caught my attention and before I had too much time to mull over the idea of Clare's current location, I found myself falling over her, her eyes meeting mine for the first time in what felt like years.

"Eli...I..." Clare stuttered nervously, her hands wrapping around a small metallic frame tightly.

"What are you doing in here?" I asked her, as my arms crossed themselves against my body, my head leaning against the doorframe to the master bedroom. I tried to keep any accusation out of my voice but I couldn't help but feel a little aggravated. _She _left me. Clare no longer had the right to just barge into my bedroom, even as a guest in my home. The thought of her in the room where I slept made my hands twitch, and I felt the all too familiar overwhelming sensation start to consume me.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." Tears formed in Clare's eyes as she apologized so sincerely that I felt guilty at bringing it up in the first place.

"It's okay," I eased, remembering her constant apologies from the night before.

"N-no, it's not."

"What do you have there?" I asked, pointing to the metal frame in her hands, the perfect distraction which had the potential of reinstating some degree of normalcy between us.

"You used to have this on the dresser... But it wasn't there anymore..." Clare slowly unwrapped her hands to unveil a picture of us at our college graduation. In the picture we were embracing each other, smiling, preparing to kiss. We both looked so happy, so peaceful, so _in love_. I cleared my throat and looked away, forcing my gaze to the ground so I wouldn't have to face Clare.

"Well..." I didn't think she really deserved any sort of explanation. Of course I wasn't going to leave it hanging up where I would have to walk past it every day. Doing that would have been torture, and Clare should have understood that. I shrugged my shoulders, allowing my body to finish the sentence for me.

"I saw it under the bed."

I nodded once, still refusing to meet her forlorn, heartbroken gaze. I tried to keep the anger that was boiling inside of me at bay knowing she didn't need one of my outbursts right now. I couldn't shake the fact that she had no right to be angry with me. I had every right to take down anything and everything that reminded me of her because _she_ was the one who didn't want _us_ to be together.

"So it was just that simple?" She asked, an uncharacteristic edge biting at her voice.

I looked at her with widened eyes, infuriated with her continued prodding about the stupid picture. I wish I had just burned it, would have saved me all this trouble.

"You just shoved me out, hid our past underneath the _bed_?"

I bit down on my tongue hard, knowing if I let up on the pressure things would fly out of my mouth before my brain had a chance to process them. I swallowed deliberately and turned my body away from her, nodding towards the kitchen.

"Did you want anything for breakfast?" I asked, allowing no emotion to cloud my voice. She wouldn't allow for a change of subject.

"I must have really meant a lot to you," she spat sarcastically, throwing the frame on the bed. I watched it bounce slightly, as the metal clashed against the mattress, the reflection of our laughing faces mocking me. It took all of my will power to not respond to her snarky comment, to detach myself from the flood of anger that was coursing through every fiber of my being. I kept trying to remind myself that Clare needed me, that something was drastically wrong with her and she was in need of my help. But the more bitter she became towards our ill-fated relationship, the very one she put an end to, the more frustrated I became.

"Nice to see you can just _delete_ someone from your life," she continued and I spun around, this time completely fed up with her antics.

"Delete you? Clare, I spent every single night for the past six months sitting by my telephone, wishing you would call me, to let me know that you were alright. You ended things with me, remember? It was you who wanted to call it quits and it was you who stopped contacting me. I won't apologize for cleaning out the apartment or for anything, for that matter. You called me after a half a year of absolute _silence_ and you say I deleted you?" I laughed dryly, turning back around to walk out the door. My shaking hands were shoved into my pockets and I desperately tried to get a handle on my anger.

It was then that I realized Clare was sobbing, the most intense cries I have ever witnessed racking her body. I swallowed hard, unsure of what to do. She had slid onto the floor, her body folding into itself in a messy heap, her head burrowing into her arms, as if to hide her face.

"Clare..." I started, but the sound of my voice just made her cries louder. I walked back over to her and knelt down beside her. One of my hands fell tentatively onto her shoulder and I gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I-I'm s-sorry," she stuttered, her face still hidden from me.

"It's okay," I responded automatically, placing her needs before mine.

"N-no. I wanted to, Eli, I wanted to call you so many times."

"Then why didn't you?" The question flew out before I had time to filter it. I didn't understand why Clare wouldn't just pick up the phone, it wasn't that difficult a task.

"H-he wouldn't let me. He wouldn't. I tried, I really did! But he..."

I cut her off, asking the question once again. "Who is _he_, Clare?"

She looked at me with widened eyes, one of her hands clamping itself over her mouth. She shook her head back and forth, tears flying down her cheeks.

"Who is he?" I asked sternly, my own hand wrapping itself around Clare's, pulling it away from her face. My eyes were pleading with hers, begging her to open up to me, to let me in. If she shared with someone, even if that person was me, it would ease her burden, make the battle a little more easy. Besides, the minute I found out who caused Clare such harm I would be etching his name into my black book, and retribution would be distributed.

"I can't," she whispered softly, her voice thick with emotion. She was protecting him for God only knew what reason.

"Clare, you need help. You're in over your head with this."

"I... I can handle it."

"Like you handled it before?"

I shouldn't have said that, I knew the second I heard the words in my own ears. It was harsh, but I was desperate. When she had been a victim of a form of abuse in her junior year of high school, Clare had taken to isolating herself from all of humanity and had practically starved herself, although it was unintentional. It had been right after we had first gotten back together again, when she had started the internship she had worked so hard for. The man there, her supervisor, had manipulated Clare and had made her feel uncomfortable, causing a near breakdown on Clare's end. After that, I swore on my life that no one would ever harm Clare like that again. Watching her go through that had been heartbreaking and witnessing her now reminded me so much of her behavior from those few months after the harassment scandal.

"I should go."

I mentally berated myself, calling myself every curse word I could recall. I was an asshole and I was pushing Clare away. What kind of a person did that? A monster. Clare was probably better off without me, anyway. She should be talking to her mother about this or her sister. A friend would have sufficed as well, yet Clare chose to come to me. Maybe it was because I was the only person living in New York who Clare felt comfortable enough with, but she had acquired plenty of friends here when she attended NYU. I still didn't know what she was doing here, or what I was doing, for that matter.

"Wait."

I placed a hand on her moving body, stilling her. She refused to look at me. Instead, she was fiddling with her hands, a trait that mirrored my own actions. I wondered if she had picked up that nervous habit from me, from living with me for so long and helping me through some of the worst anxiety attacks.

"No, Eli, I had no right to come here and do this."

"Let me help you."

"I'm fine. I don't need help," Clare replied stubbornly, standing up, gaining control of her tears. She started walking out of the bedroom, but stopped before she reached the door. I watched as she turned around slowly, a fake smile spreading on her face. "Thank you for everything."

I stood up too and made an attempt to close the distance between us. Clare would have none of it. Every time I took a step towards her, Clare took a step back, inching her way to the door of the condo. We continued this dance, of sorts, until she had her hand wrapped around the brass doorknob. She used the door as a support as she slipped on the heels she had worn the previous night, wiggling her feet until the straps were settled just right against her ankles.

"Please, Clare..." I knew I sounded pathetic, begging her to stay, begging her to open up.

"I'll see you around, Eli."

"Don't walk out that door."

She smiled sadly and I noticed a few more tears course down her cheeks before she opened the door and walked out. I swallowed the growing lump in my throat, tears prickling at my own eyes. It took me a moment, but I regained my composure enough to open the door and fly down the hallways, searching for her. I ran towards the elevator, punching the down button, wildly glancing around the hallways. It was taking too long to come up. My foot tapped against the ground before I gave up on the elevator and made my way towards the stairs. I jogged down them, jumping down three or four steps at a time, my breath becoming ragged. When I reached the bottom of the apartment, complex, I stopped and searched, my eyes scanning the streets for the familiar face of Clare Edwards. She was nowhere to be found.

I waited outside for what seemed like hours, my body growing numb from the cold weather and my shabby attire. Once I was positive Clare would not be showing up, I defeatedly made my way back to my apartment. I opened the door and immediately made my way over to the liquor cabinet. I reached in the back and dug up a bottle of whisky, a bottle I had bought when I turned 21. It was still mostly full, only a small amount missing from when Clare and I tried it the night of my twenty-first birthday. I popped open the cap and brought the bottleneck to my lips, pouring the liquor greedily into my mouth. I swallowed in large gulps, sputtering a bit as the burn of the alcohol stung my throat and stomach. I continued until the bottle was a little less than half full, dropping the glass onto the floor and allowing it to crack open.

I laughed at the spillage, watching the whisky leak onto the tile, sticky and wet. I reached into the cabinet for my pill bottle and opened it, turning it upside down over the sink, allowing all of the medicine to flow into the sink. I watched as the little white pills disappeared under the flow of the water, giddily watching them dissolve into nothing.

I wished I could dissolve into nothing.

I couldn't help Clare.

I couldn't help myself.

I leaned back against the wall, sliding down onto the floor. I felt exhausted, as if I hadn't slept in years. Thoughts of Clare kept popping into my head and my entire body ached at the loss of her.

Who knew when I would see her again?

Who knew _if_ I would see her again?

I felt as if I was losing the better half of me all over again.

I didn't even fight the darkness that surrounded me. I welcomed it with open arms. I wanted to feel _nothing_.

Because without Clare, _nothing_ was what I was.

* * *

**THE END.**

****_Just kidding._

__I decided to turn this into a four of five shot, since I had to rewrite it and found some new inspiration.

If I get 10 reviews, I'll update tomorrow. And _not_ make you wait another month for it. Swear on my life! :D

Reviews from wonderful _readers like you_ would be _greatly _appreciated! Love you guys! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. I don't own the the characters, the plot, or Degrassi. If I had a mind as creative as that then I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction. :)

**Author's Notes**: Holy crap, guys! Thanks so much for all of the feedback! To answer some questions, yes this is mostly angst, but the ending will be slightly happier, so hang in there. I'm also thinking of doing a prequel, of sorts, so be on the lookout for that sometime soon. I'm expecting this to be a couple of more chapters and then it'll be all wrapped up. Please read, review and enjoy part four!

I also recently got a twitter, so if you have one, follow me! I'll follow back: xomurxo

This chapter is dedicated to TurboWiz70, who celebrated a birthday recently, and xoFrap who's birthday is today! Happy birthday to you two amazing ladies. :)

* * *

**SAFE RIDE**

**PART IV**

_"So take my nervous hand and we can make a stand..."_

It was well past midnight when I awoke from my alcohol-induced slumber. A loud incessant knocking forced me out of my foggy drunken state and back into the harsh reality of my life. I groaned as my stomach churned and a sharp pain pounded at my head. One of my hands draped itself across my forehead, covering up my eyes, protecting them from the street light that glared through the windows. I chanced a look around me, noting with regret the spilled liquor and the broken glass covering the kitchen floor. I let my head roll back against the cool wall, finding comfort there. While I slept, I could be happy. My mind and body were blank and Clare Edwards couldn't haunt me. When I slept I was normal and I could create my own kind of reality.

Again, a knock sounded on the door, but I made no effort to get up. My legs felt heavy, as if my pants were filled with stones. The thought of moving from my well-claimed spot on the floor made a new wave of exhaustion sweep over me, even though I had just slept for ten hours. As melodramatic as it sounded, I wanted to crawl up in a ball and stay there until my world found balance again.

Another knock sounded, repetitive blows against the wood reverberating against my head to create a most miserable sensation. I was sure that this was what it felt like to die. I had never consumed alcohol in excess before, saving drinks for social gatherings rather than utilizing it as a method of stress release. If this was what a hangover felt like, I never wanted to drink again. I let out a low growl, my mouth too dry and lazy to form words. I wanted to tell the intruder at the door to leave me the hell alone, that I was obviously in no state of mind to entertain.

"Elijah Goldsworthy, I know you're in there!"

_Fuck._

The familiar sound of Fiona Coyne's voice made me cringe, knowing she would not leave without a good fight. Fiona had moved back home to New York after graduating from Degrassi, and her and Clare had taken a new-found liking to each other. Fiona would come over frequently, or Clare and her would go out for a girl's night, while Clare still lived here. Since the breakup, Fiona had been a great ally. Even though choosing sides was childish and immature, there was no doubt in my mind that Fiona had picked mine. She would come over and bring me food, clean up after me and call me five times a day, at first. She had all but suffocated me. Fiona was a good friend, but she had always had terrible timing.

"_Eli_!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I groaned, as I eased my way up off the ground, using my hands against the wall to steady myself.

I walked groggily over to the door, unlocking it and opening it slowly, to reveal a well-polished Fiona, clad in business professional attire, a briefcase firmly tucked under her left arm. Did she even realize it was one in the morning?

"Fiona," I whispered, the alcohol rolling off my breath. "For what do I owe the pleasure?"

She rolled her eyes sharply and pushed the door open wider, granting herself permission to waltz inside the condo. She placed her bag on the coffee table and flipped her hair, before walking back over to me, a stern expression gracing her face.

"You _reek_ of alcohol," she said observantly, placing one of her hands on each of my shoulders. Although her words held no judgment, I couldn't help but feel guilt.

"Sorry," I mumbled to the recovered alcoholic, ashamed of myself for allowing alcohol to be a temporary remedy to an unfixable situation. Wasn't that how alcoholism started? I should have known better, especially since I had Fiona as one of my good friends.

She glanced around the room, undoubtably trying to find the source of my post-drunken state. Her eyes dimmed as they landed on the broken bottle and she spared me a sympathetic stare. Before I could stop her, Fiona had walked over to the mess and knelt down beside it, hurriedly working on cleaning it up.

"You don't have to do that, Fi – you _shouldn't_ be doing that," I stated as I knelt down beside her, taking the dustpan out of her hands. The stench of stale alcohol in the air was probably hard enough for Fiona to deal with, never mind _cleaning_ up the liquor. Even though I knew Fiona was much too strong now to relapse, I didn't want to take any chances. There was no way I'd be an enabler, or the cause, for _that_.

"Oh, stop that, Eli. I'm a college student for goodness sake. I can handle this," Fiona hissed and I noticed the brief look of hurt and agitation that spread darkly across her features before she masked it. She stood up and grabbed a rag from the sink, working on cleaning up the dried, sticky mess that had soaked through the tiles.

"Ah, yes, how is FIT treating you these days?"

"Wonderfully," she beamed at me, pausing for just a moment to flash me her pearly whites.

"And the new job?"

"It's amazing, all of it!"

I smirked at her and nodded, wishing I could relish in her happiness. Fiona's naturally easy going nature was something I had envied, something I wished would rub off on me.

"I just got out now and I heard a few stories, so I wanted to check up on you."

"You're just getting out at one in the morning?"

"Long day. Now, what is this I hear about Clare returning to New York?"

I stared at her, caught off guard. How could Fiona possibly know that? Unless Clare had contacted Fiona as well, which would have made perfect sense. If Fiona wasn't available, then I guess I would be a mediocre alternative.

"Leah, the bartender at Roxy's, told me."

I shot Fiona an incredulous look, wondering what the hell she was doing in a bar and making friends, at that.

"Oh _relax_, Eli. We go there for dinner sometimes at work. She recognized Clare as my friend and told me a rather interesting story. I hope it's not true..."

I cleared my throat and put the dustpan down, my hands shaking. Fiona had been able to get Clare's story and I had been with the primary source and hadn't managed to get one bit of information.

"What did you hear?" I asked, trying to play it cool.

Fiona stopped her scrubbing and placed one of her hands on my forearm, her eyebrows growing closer together as her face filled with concern.

"She said that Clare came in last night and a man came looking for her..." she started, pausing, I knew, to gauge my reaction. I twisted my hands together, managing to grip them tightly enough to stop the shaking. I feared if I showed too much anxiety, Fiona would stop, and knowing what happened to Clare was an opportunity I simply could not pass up. I nodded briefly for Fiona to continue.

"He was completely sloshed when he reached Clare and he... well... she said he handled her a bit more roughly than he should have."

I inhaled sharply, recollecting the fist imprint on Clare's cheek and the bruises lacing her skin.

"Leah said the bar manager kicked him out and that she waited with her until a young man came to pick Clare up. Would I be wrong to assume this young man was you?"

I cleared my throat and stood up abruptly, grabbing the dustpan and emptying the contents into the trash can. "Well, you know what happens when you assume things," I responded dryly, my back turned so Fiona wouldn't see the horror drawn out on my face.

"Did you see Clare, Eli?" She asked authoritatively and I heard her stand up as well.

I turned around to steal a glance at her, noting her posture, her hands crossed in front of her chest and her shoulders squared.

"Yes, I did, but I don't see how..."

"Eli!"

Fiona threw her arms up in the air in exasperation and I knew exactly why she was annoyed, because I shared the same annoyance. All of that hard work, all of the Clare-proofing I had done on the house, was all for nothing. I was now back to square one and it was my own fault. Her face softened after a few minutes and she came over to me, wrapping her arms around me tightly.

"Is she okay?" Her voice was soft and held a childlike quality to it, making me want to reassure her even when I couldn't put my own self at ease.

"Yes," I replied instantly, the word slipping out automatically.

She pulled away and looked at my eyes, shaking her head. "She is...?"

"Well, I... I don't know, Fi. I hope so."

"Did she say anything to you?"

I shook my head, embarrassed with the admission.

"That's normal... I didn't want to talk either," she responded in an effort to comfort me.

"What do you mean?" I asked urgently, wishing I had heard her wrong.

"In high school, when it happened to me, I... Eli it's natural to not want to speak about it, so don't be hard on yourself. I'm proud of you for being there for Clare. See, you _are_ a lot stronger than you think!" She praised, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"It happened to you?" I was stuck on this bit of information, wondering how I could have missed the signs of my own friend's suffering.

"A long, long time ago, before we were on good terms, Eli. It's water under the bridge now."

I shot her a look of concern before relenting and nodding my head. Normally I wouldn't have let something like this go, but my mind was so consumed with Clare that I was sure I wouldn't have been much comfort to Fiona anyways.

Fiona turned to place the rag back on the counter and stopped short, her hand clutching onto something I couldn't see. Spinning around, Fiona opened her palm, revealing the empty pill bottle. She rose an eyebrow and widened her eyes, glaring at me.

"What is this?"

"I... I just need to get a refill. No big deal."

"Mhm," Fiona tsked, reading the label. "Looks like it was just filled a couple of days ago."

"Well I need to get more."

"Yes, you do," she placed the empty bottle back down and sighed. "I'll take you tomorrow after my morning classes. I'll meet you at noon at The Coffee Bar, alright?" She asked, walking over to pick up her bag and swinging it onto her shoulder.

"Sounds good," I responded, even though I despised the monitoring, feeling all of eight years old.

"We'll walk to the pharmacy after we get some caffeine in us. I have a feeling I'm going to need it tomorrow. Three exams _and_ a late night of research papers."

"Ah, the sweet life of academia."

"Sweet life, indeed," she responded, leaning in to peck my cheek before giving me a wave goodbye. She headed out the door, pausing once to remind me of our meeting tomorrow, before leaving.

As the door swung shut behind Fiona's retreating form, I let out a quick sigh of relief and headed to my bedroom. The minute my head hit the pillow I fell asleep, caving into the familiar exhaustion that was tempting me.

XXXXX

The sensation of deja vu crept over me as I was once again awoken by a knock on the door, a much softer one this time. I looked at the soft green light of the alarm clock, the time staring back at me. _Five thirty-five_ in the morning. Who would be at my door now?

I swung my legs over the bed and placed my stocking-clad feet on the cool floor, hearing the knock once again.

I went through the living room and opened the door, my eyes colliding with bright blue ones. Clare stood in front of me, shaking profusely, a large bruise forming on her other cheek. Tears stained her face and magnified her eyes, making her look excruciatingly vulnerable. I held the door open wider and ushered her inside, locking the door tight behind us.

"Oh, Clare," I whispered, bringing one of my hands up to her face. With the back of my hand, I gently glided my skin against hers, hearing her let out a soft moan of pain.

I was so shocked to see her standing there in front of me, hardly believing it was really Clare Edwards in my apartment once again, for the second time in twenty-four hours. I wanted to be upset with her, but there was no way I could. She looked so dejected, so _broken_, all I wanted to do was hold her in my arms and never let her leave. When she left me, bad things happened to her, terrible events that I couldn't control or put a stop to.

"I can't..." Clare started, her words not making any sense.

"You need to tell me who is doing this to you. This needs to stop."

"I... Oh God..." Clare's shaking grew progressively worse and I gently guided her over to the couch, getting her to sit down.

"We can fix this, alright? You just tell me what's going on and we can take care of everything."

She shook her head, outstretching her arms to me. I wrapped my own around her, holding her in a light embrace, making sure to give her enough space to push me away if she felt uncomfortable.

Her breathing was so erratic, she was close to hyperventilating. I began to panic, not knowing how to react. Her eyes searched mine pleadingly and I pulled her away from my chest so I could work on calming her down.

"Okay, okay, okay..." I whispered, my hand rubbing her back in deep circles. "Calm down, Clare. Try to relax."

"N-no, no!" Clare swatted my hands away, twisting and turning, removing herself from my hold.

"Listen to me, shh, just listen," I sat back, my hands in front of me where she could see them, so she knew I wouldn't touch her.

She sniffled shakily, her red-rimmed eyes meeting mine.

"Take a deep breath in and hold it for five seconds."

She followed my instructions and I counted aloud, instructing her to release. She repeated the breathing techniques that had worked on me for so long and it seemed to be doing the trick.

"A few more times. We can do this," I encouraged, as I counted to five once more.

When I was satisfied that Clare was no longer in immediate danger, I stopped.

"Please, can you... can you just hold me? Like... like you did before?" She asked as I nodded. She climbed up on my lap, resting her head on my shoulder. I began to rock her, like I used to.

"We need to talk, Clare. If you won't talk to me, I'm going to have to find someone you will talk to. I'm... I'm going to call your mom, Clare. This isn't okay, what's going on with you."

"N-no! Eli, no! She'll... she'll be so disappointed."

"Of course she won't. She loves you, this isn't your fault."

"I thought I could trust you!" She spat, trying to sit up, but I wouldn't allow it. I held her tighter, my rocking motion picking up speed.

"You can always trust me. But I can't help you if you won't let me in and I don't know what else to do."

She stayed quiet for awhile, and I followed suit. It seemed as if she was thinking hard, debating on whether or not she should tell me what was really going on.

"If I tell you... promise you won't be mad?"

"I could never be mad with you about something like this."

"Promise me," she repeated.

"I promise."

"He... he..."

I ran a hand through her hair, trying to coax the truth out of her.

"_He's_ back."

That was all she needed to say. I knew exactly what she meant, who she was referring to. I felt as if my heart stopped beating, my blood turning ice cold. The man that had turned Clare's life into a living nightmare was once again trying to recreate a hell on earth for the girl. The guy who stripped Clare, literally and figuratively, to the very core, of her dignity, was _back_. I could taste the bitter desire for revenge on the tip of my tongue and I swore I would _kill_ the guy. Asher, the piece of shit who had destroyed Clare once, was damaging her all over again. The only thing I could think of doing was breaking every bone in his body, until he felt as tortured as Clare did.

"Not for long, Clare. Not for long."

* * *

If I get 15 reviews, (I know, I know, I'm pushing it!) I'll update by tomorrow evening.

Reviews from wonderful _readers like you_ would be _greatly _appreciated! Love you guys and thanks for reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. I don't own the the characters, the plot, or Degrassi. If I had a mind as creative as that then I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction. :)

**Author's Notes**: You guys are seriously the best readers any writer could ever ask for. Thank you so much for your support and your reviews, I love reading them. They keep me motivated and I'm really excited that you all are so into this story. I hope you enjoy part 5, it was a bit hard for me to write, so I hope it came out okay! Please read, review and enjoy!

I also recently got a twitter, so if you have one, follow me! I'll follow back: xomurxo

* * *

**SAFE RIDE**

**PART V**

****_"I never thought life could be like this... I never thought..."_

Clare had cried herself to sleep, despite my profuse efforts to calm her down. After she told me who was tormenting her, Clare had taken to sobbing on the couch, her arms wrapped around herself. I was relieved when sleep overcame her, because when she was sleeping, she wasn't suffering. I stood watch by her the entire time she dozed, refusing to let my eyes off of her for even a moment. I didn't want to risk anything happening to her again. Under my skilled, careful watch, Clare was safe. There was no way I was going to let that safety become breached.

I couldn't fall back to sleep, so I had taken to sitting in the armchair next to Clare's sleeping form, sipping on freshly brewed coffee. The caffeine helped to get rid of the last remnants of the hangover I had and worked on wakening me up. All of my thoughts were consumed with Asher and Clare, my mind creating disturbingly vivid scenarios, none of which were pleasant. I tried to get Clare to speak with me before she fell asleep, to share with me the terrifying details regarding what happened, but she had worked herself up too much to allow any flow of information. I couldn't say I blamed her. My heart ached for her.

It was now ten in the morning and I had a deadline to meet today. The piece I was writing for _The New York Times_ on the latest upcoming plays on Broadway was due this morning and I had yet to complete it. The nearly blank document was sitting on my laptop screen, glaring brightly, an agonizing reminder that I did have a life to live beyond Clare. The article was scheduled to be placed in the Sunday edition, the one that was published two days from now. There was no way I would have it done in time. I would have to call my editor, who would be less than thrilled with the news, and have to deal with the tremendous guilt of disappointment, unmedicated. I should never have thrown that medicine away. Now I was left to deal with Clare, an irate boss and the daunting task of writing the article, all on my own.

"Hey," I heard the soft voice break the comfortable silence that surrounded me and I looked down to see Clare's bright blue eyes staring back at me.

"Good morning," I replied, trying to force happiness into my tone. Her puffy eyes and reddened cheeks were a reminder of the unpleasant talk that was yet to come.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep."

"Don't be sorry. You needed to rest," I replied, standing up from my seat. "I made some pancakes for you."

"You cook?" She propped herself up on the arm of the couch, an eyebrow arched in surprise.

"Occasionally," I smirked, pulling out a warmed plate and carrying it over to her. "Eat up, you need it." Clare was starting to look like nothing but skin and bones and the near skeletal frame did nothing to ease my troubled mind.

Clare sheepishly accepted the plate from me and set it down in front of her. I watched as she took great effort in cutting up the pancakes into tiny bite-sized pieces, playing with them on the fork before hesitantly placing the food in her mouth. She took a long time to chew and an even longer time to swallow the bites, and the insecurity over my cooking abilities grew strong.

"If you don't like it I can get you something else," I hurriedly suggested, understanding that any food I created wasn't the best of qualities.

"No, no, it's great Eli. You did a really good job."

I cocked an eyebrow at her, gesturing to her plate. "It doesn't look like you're really enjoying it."

"I am. I'm just... not really that hungry."

I sat down next to her on the couch, removing the plate from her lap and placing it on the coffee table. I took her hand in mine and squeezed it, getting her to focus her attention on me.

"And when was the last time you ate a meal, Clare? Really ate something." I had a feeling it had been awhile. The last time that Asher character made an appearance in her life, Clare had needed me to practically spoon-feed her. I was unfortunately well-versed in caring for Clare during _this_ kind of a crisis, although I really wished there had never been the necessity for me to obtain that kind of knowledge.

"I eat," she replied sharply, her body turning away from me in a fluid defensive movement.

"What was the last thing?" I insisted, unwilling to give up on this. If I broke her down this way, I knew I could continue. It would be the tip of the iceberg and would allow for Clare to open up about the other things as well, a gateway, of sorts.

"I..." she paused and I knew that she had to actually think about it, which was scary. I could recall the past ten meals if I was asked to rattle them off. "I had some yogurt yesterday."

"And?"

"And... and it's really none of your business," she huffed, and I knew her agitation was due to the fact that she knew I was right. Clare hadn't been taking care of herself, which really worried me. The pattern was the same as before and I had to step in and stop it before it got any more out of hand.

I grabbed the fork that Clare had tossed down onto the plate and stabbed some bits of pancake onto the tines, getting a good amount before bringing it to her defiantly closed lips.

"Open."

Clare looked at me with wide eyes and shook her head. I knew she was appalled by the idea of being spoken to like a toddler, but she needed this. If she wouldn't take care of her well-being, then I most certainly would. After all, coming to me _had_ been a cry for help, had it not? So I had to help her, even in this most degrading, pride-crushing way, if it came down to it.

"Open," I repeated sternly, tightening my grip on the utensil.

"I'm not a child!" She pouted, but the minute her mouth opened to speak the words, I jabbed the fork in, forcing her to take the bite of food.

I was half-expecting her to spit it back out at me in spite. Her eyes narrowed into tiny slivers as she glared at me but slowly, she began to chew and eventually swallow. When she was done, she opened her mouth once more, allowing me to place another fork-full of food inside of her mouth. We continued this motion, as I patiently waited for Clare to meticulously digest the food, and she continued to open her mouth to allow me to feed her. I heard Clare's stomach growl the more she ate and she began to eat more eagerly, finally realizing how hungry she actually had been.

"Good," I praised when the plate was empty, placing the fork back down with a slight crash.

Clare's cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink and she readjusted herself on the sofa, her body inching a bit further away from mine.

"We have a lot to talk about," I said boldly, angling my body so I could more easily look into Clare's eyes.

She nodded in agreement, but wouldn't meet my gaze. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything, Clare. How did he... how did he manage to come back?" The last I knew, Asher had taken off to Europe to find a position at another company, fleeing before his name was able to become tarnished. Clare had threatened to bring Asher to court, after much insistence from myself and her family, and the seriousness of the potential consequences had been enough to get Asher scurrying to the nearest airport. Although it hadn't been as satisfying as seeing justice served, knowing Asher was out of the country and out of Clare's life had been a security.

"He... He's my boss."

I looked at her, my eyes wide with disbelief. How hadn't Clare picked up on this before she accepted the position? Why hadn't she quit, or at the very least reported him, the minute she found out? Questions were pouring into my head, but I tried to keep them hushed, allowing Clare to continue. There had to have been some kind of good explanation for this, some ounce of logic that would make sense out of this entirely _nonsensical_ situation.

"Your boss," I repeated, my voice low.

"He wasn't at first," she hurriedly continued, her right hand picking at the chipped nail polish on her index finger.

"How did he become your boss?"

"I was working on an assignment in Mumbai, about a new international crime scandal that was going on there, and _he_ showed up," she shuddered, goosebumps rising on her skin from the memory. "I asked him what the hell he was doing there and he just laughed at me and flashed me his business card. It said _Business Manager_, Eli. His _card_," she choked on a sob and sniffled hard, trying to calm herself down so she could continue. I placed one of my hands around her shoulders, bringing her body closer to mine.

"It was my second assignment, my first real international one. The other one had been in Vancouver, but I didn't really count it since I was just doing basic prep work for it. This one in India was supposed to be my big break, the one where I could prove myself..."

I nodded my head encouragingly, my hand rubbing smooth circles on her clothed shoulder.

"After I found out he was my new boss, he told me _he_ was the one who suggested me for the position. He _got_ me the job, Eli. He was working for them the whole time, climbing his way up the corporate ladder. He said I _owed_ him for getting me the great career that most people would die for, told me that I was being _unappreciative _when I wouldn't... when I wouldn't..." she broke off in tears and wiped viciously at her eyes, red marks straying in her hand's wake. "When I wouldn't do certain things for him."

"Certain things like what?" I asked regretfully, my overactive imagination begging to know.

"Like... go out to dinner with him... or..." she trailed off, her voice inching to nothing more than a whisper, "sleep with him."

"Please tell me he never made you do that, Clare. Look at me and please, please tell me. Oh God, Clare, please," my body was shaking at the unbearable thought, my heart feeling like it would fly right out of my chest at any given moment.

She stayed quiet, tears racing down her cheeks, her eyes closed. I took it as a silent admission and I couldn't take any more. I shot up from my seat and began pacing the room, cursing under my breath in the process.

"God, Clare. Why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you quit?" I tried not to assume anything and remain objective, but I was confused and angry, not understanding why she wouldn't just leave that kind of a situation immediately.

"I... couldn't."

"Yes you could have, Clare! C'mon!" I screeched, running my hands through my hair, my palms pulling at chunks, the pain burning my scalp more bearable than the pain burning my heart.

"N-no. I had no one. I was... I was all alone with him... every assignment...in foreign, unfamiliar countries. He... he knows a lot of people in the broadcasting world, Eli. He told me that if I breathed a word to anyone, that he would tarnish my name for good and... and I would never be taken seriously. This is my _career_, I couldn't do that."

"So you let some creepy asshole manipulate you, instead?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Clare couldn't have been that naïve, could she?

"Please..." she breathed out shakily, a sob strangling her plead.

I sat back down across from her on top of the coffee table and inhaled heavily, allowing myself to calm down a bit before apologizing. "I'm sorry," I responded sincerely, not meaning to snap at her or cause her any more discomfort. I reminded myself that I was here to listen, not to judge.

"One night... _that_ night..." her face scrunched up and she balled her fists next to her body as she spoke, "the night he went _too_ far, I tried to tell someone. I... I started to run away, but... I didn't get very far."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, realizing what night she meant. The night that Asher raped her of her virginity. The night that became the pivotal turning point, the night Clare became broken.

"What happened?"

"He had been drinking and he... he... hit... me."

"That was the first time?"

She nodded her head, biting hard on her bottom lip. "He told me if I ever tried to run away again, he would _kill_ me. So I didn't. I thought that once I got back here, to New York, things would be okay again. But he followed me here. I was so happy, so relieved when I got here. Then he showed up here too. I can't get away from him, Eli."

"How badly has he hurt you? Physically, I mean?"

Clare looked at me as if she was unsure whether or not she should answer. Carefully, she eased herself into a standing position and walked in front of me, so she was standing in between my straddled legs.

"If I show you..."

"How bad is it?"

"Don't hate me."

"Never, Clare. I'll never hate you."

"I'm sorry..." she whimpered and I brought her hand to my lips, kissing the soft skin gently.

"You did _nothing_ wrong, Clare," I repeated my words from the previous night, needing her to believe the truth behind them.

With much apprehension, Clare pulled off her shirt and slid down her jeans, revealing a maze of old and new bruises. They covered her completely, her shoulders, her back, her chest, her thighs, her stomach, her hips. _Everywhere_ was bruised. I had never seen anything like it in my entire life.

"_Holy shit_," I sputtered out, standing up to get a closer look. The adrenaline running through my body caused an anxious shake, and I swore to God the next time I saw Asher, he would be dead. Life in jail would be worth it, to see the motherfucker get buried six feet deep. He hurt Clare more than I had ever imagined, more than was even conceivable. How could this have been the same fun-loving girl who I had been so in love with, just short of a year ago?

"I'm sorry, Eli," she repeated, and I gently brought her to me, wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug.

"Oh God," I said, tears prickling my own eyes.

"Are you mad?"

"Not at you, Clare. Never at you."

"I didn't mean for it to get this bad."

"I know. It's not your fault, okay?"

She nodded against my chest and I started to pull away, but she held on tighter.

"Don't let me go. I... You're the only person I feel safe with."

I placed my arms back around her tightly and rubbed a hand up and down her back, silently doing my best to comfort her.

"Last night he hurt you again?"

"Y-yes."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. What... what am I going to do?"

I dropped a kiss onto Clare's cheek and rested my forehead against hers. "_We_ are going to figure it out together. You're not in this alone."

"Th-thank you _so _much. You don't know how... how scared I've been."

I ran a hand through one of her curls and tugged at it gently, knowing how much she used to enjoy it while we were dating.

"We need to go to the police. Can you do that, Clare? Do you think you can tell them what you just told me?"

For a minute Clare was silent and I was worried she wouldn't go through with it. I knew she would be frightened by the idea, but it was what she had to do if she ever wanted to break free from Asher.

"Will you be there with me when I do it?"

"Of course, if you want me to be."

"What if they don't believe me?"

I thought for a minute before shaking my head. "You have a strong case and a report already out against him. They'll believe you, Clare."

My answer seemed to please her. I was about to suggest we both get cleaned up before a knock sounded on the front door. Looking at the door, I started to pull away from Clare, intent on answering it.

"_Don't_!" Clare hissed softly, gripping onto me tighter. "_Don't get it!_"

"I... Hey, it's okay," I reassured, as Clare began to cry again.

"What if... What if its him?"

"I doubt it is, but if it is, I would never let him hurt you."

"Please don't get the door," she repeated, as the knock sounded again, firmer this time.

"Go in the other room," I instructed, and Clare wasted no time in going to the master bedroom. I heard the faint click of the lock on the bedroom door before I made my way to the front.

The knock had just sounded again when I opened the front door, an extremely irritated Fiona Coyne standing in front of me.

"Oh hello, Eli, lovely of you to grace me with your presence," she spat at me, shoving her way into the apartment. I quickly shut and locked the door behind her, the prospect of Asher attempting to find Clare spooking me.

"Fiona -" I began, but she cut me off.

"I waited for almost an hour for you at The Coffee Bar, Eli! An _hour_! And I called your phone, but it was turned off."

"Fi..."

"I'd love to know what was so important that you couldn't even be bothered to..."

At the sound of the bedroom door being opened, Fiona stopped, her mouth gaping at the sight in front of her. Clare Edwards, bruised and battered, stood in front of the both of us, sobs shaking her body once more.

"Oh my God," Fiona breathed out, one of her hands moving to cover her mouth.

"Fiona," Clare said softly, whimpering.

Fiona hurried over to the girl and wrapped her in a hug, whispering things to her that I couldn't hear.

"Let's get you cleaned up. I have some great makeup that'll cover that right up," Fiona coaxed, guiding Clare into the bathroom. "Go ahead in the shower and I'll be in after to help you, alright?"

It was strange to see Fiona acting so maternally towards Clare but the sight was rather endearing. After all, I figured Clare needed a girl to help her through this, especially one like Fiona. As Clare hurried off to the bathroom and the sound of running water could be heard, Fiona turned to me.

"Tomorrow, we go to the police station," she said sternly and I shook my head.

"Tonight, we go to the police station."

Fiona seemed pleased with my response and turned into the bedroom to take care of Clare.

"Justice will be served," she said softly, before shutting the door tight behind her.

"Justice will be served," I repeated, praying that I was right and that Asher would be locked behind bars for the rest of his life.

That was what he deserved. That was what Clare deserved.

* * *

So, here's the deal. _If_ I get 25 reviews, I will update tomorrow night. (You guys are surpassing my other review requirements by crazy amounts, so I'm raising the bar a little!)

Reviews from wonderful _readers like you_ would be _greatly _appreciated! Love you guys and thanks for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. I don't own the the characters, the plot, or Degrassi. If I had a mind as creative as that then I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction. :)

**Author's Notes**: Have I told you lately how amazing you all are? Because you readers/reviewers make my day. Thank you so much for your support and your reviews, I love reading them. This chapter is fairly short, but I wanted to break up the last part, since part seven will be more of an epilogue. Please read, review and enjoy part six!

Twitter = xomurxo

* * *

**SAFE RIDE**

**PART VI**

"_I'll be your safe ride home, when you call me..."_

We were standing in front of the old brick building, the New York City Police Department, the three of us huddled together. My hand was wrapped around Clare's, an attempt to transfer my strength to her. Since we left the apartment, Clare had been shivering nonstop, despite the many layers of clothing Fiona had generously dressed her with. The police station was only a few blocks away, so we had decided to walk, rather than waste time with parking or the subway system. I thought the walk would do Clare some good, but maybe I had been wrong.

With every step we took, Clare's face seemed to grow more pale. The pink shades that had previously occupied her cheeks were gone and Clare looked similar to a ghost. I eyed her continuously throughout our journey, noting how her cheekbones pulsed, as if she were chewing on something invisible. Her eyes never left the sidewalk where we walked, always downcast, shielding her emotions from myself and Fiona.

Now, as the intimidating structure stood before us, I was not ashamed to admit that even I was scared. There were so many possible potential outcomes that could result from this visit, and I certainly hoped that it would be a positive one. I don't think Clare's mental frame would be able to handle it if something went wrong here. The police were supposed to make things safe, so they _had_ to help. Still, I did have some doubts in my mind. My cursed brain always went into hyperdrive and made me overanalyze every possible scenario out of any situation. It was one of the reasons why I was such a skilled writer, because my highly overactive mind allowed me to see so many different angles. It was less of a blessing and more of a burden.

"I can't do this," Clare whispered next to me, and I tugged a bit on her hand. I expected some resistance on her end, but I wouldn't let her back down now, not after we made it this far. The scent of justice could be inhaled through my nostrils and there was no way Asher would get away with what he did.

"You're strong, Clare, you can do this," Fiona spoke up with much authority in her voice, the same tone she used with me when she checked to make sure I had been taking my pills evident in her voice.

Clare turned to Fiona and shook her head frantically, and I could feel panic rising in my chest. Clare was working herself up again, her breathing ragged and erratic, and I was so afraid that she would be completely incoherent by the time her legs carried her inside of the building. I felt beads of sweat forming on my forehead, even though the outside temperature was cold enough for snow. My palms were getting sweaty, and I could feel the moisture building between my hand and Clare's hand. I hoped she wouldn't notice how clammy I was getting. I needed a pill, desperately. In order to go through with this, to be strong for Clare, I needed to clear my own mind and ease myself into stability.

"Yes, you can," Fiona repeated, dropping a hand on Clare's shoulder. "It'll be hard, but once it's done, it's _over_."

Clare noticeably swallowed and she turned her gaze from Fiona to me. I tried to keep the terror out of my own eyes and I nodded my head, trying to provide a united front with Fiona. The two of us together would be able to support Clare and get her the professional help she required.

"We'll be right here the entire time," I reassured, knowing Clare was now dependent on us.

"Even when they question me?"

"Yes," I replied instantly, but didn't miss the look of worry Fiona flashed me. I raised my eyebrows in the brunette's direction and she shook her head, but I didn't understand. Clare didn't seem to notice our shared exchanged, as her attention was once again back to the cement, her foot kicking a piece of broken off pavement.

"_We can't_," Fiona mouthed silently towards me, but I didn't comprehend what she was referring to. She nodded her head towards Clare, then to the police barracks, her eyes wide.

Then realization hit me. We wouldn't be able to go in the questioning room with Clare. We would have to stay outside and wait. She would be alone. I knew Clare wouldn't take to that bit of information very kindly, so I focused my efforts on just getting her into the building. After she was in, maybe an officer would be able to gently pry everything out of her. I wished I could be in there for Clare.

"So, how about it? Let's walk in there, now," Fiona said softly, her hand moving to Clare's head. She played with Clare's hair for a moment, fixing and smoothing it, until Clare gave her a curt nod.

"You'll stay with me, right?" Clare asked, and I knew she just wanted to hear the answer over again, for reassurance. She always drew comfort out of repetition and I felt a twinge of guilt as I knew I had to stretch the truth.

"As long as they allow us, we will be right next to you." It wasn't exactly a lie. I would do my best to fight for Clare, to stay with her until they physically had to remove me, if she needed me.

"Okay. I'm... I'm ready."

"You'll do great," I whispered encouragingly, as I felt Clare tighten her grasp on my hand.

We walked up the steps slowly, and the more time that passed, the more stressed I became. I was sure that with every new step we took, Clare would change her mind. I felt Fiona's eyes on me but I couldn't look at her. Clare needed us, both of us. Fiona didn't have time to worry about me and I didn't have time to worry about an episode. Right now, we needed Clare to make it through those two double glass doors. We needed her to tell her side.

"Wait!" Clare stalled, turning around to face the street. I felt my breath hitch and I glanced at Fiona, who already had a hand wrapped around the door handle.

"Clare...?" I prompted, my eyes searching hers. "It'll be okay," I attempted to reassure, but I could tell she wasn't listening.

"What... what do I do?" She asked nervously, her eyes tearing up.

"Just tell your story. That's all you have to do in there and then it'll be over."

"But... what do I say?"

I was about to answer, when Fiona responded for me, her answer so simple and steady that I was filled with a rush of gratitude towards her.

"The truth," she quietly whispered as she opened the door and nodded for us to enter.

I looked at Clare, patiently waiting for her to make a move.

"No."

All of a sudden Clare looked like a deer caught in the headlights, a person filled with so much fear and uncertainty that I wanted to give into her request. I wanted nothing more than to turn around with Clare tucked safely underneath my arms and keep watch over her forever. I knew that would be a terrible option, so I wouldn't give in, for _Clare's_ sake. She couldn't live her life in fear of Asher, wondering where he was and if he was going to reappear at the drop of a hat. No, she needed _justice_.

Fiona was about to step in, but I put a hand out, asking for her silence. I wanted to handle this on my own. I _needed_ to.

"Turning back now isn't an option," I responded firmly, walking in front of Clare's shaking body. I saw her make a move to get around me, but I reached out, grabbing hold of her arm, holding her back. Her eyes flickered with surprise at my quick response and I could read her face like a book. Clare wanted to run. I was sure that I was the only thing holding her here, that if my hand hadn't been so snuggly wrapped around her, she would have made a break for it the first chance she got.

"Eli, I can't. I'm sorry," she trembled, and I reached my other arm out to her hand, keeping her planted on the ground.

"Asher's out there, Clare," I began harshly, nodding my head down the streets of New York. "He's somewhere in this city, waiting for you to find him again. Do you know what'll happen if he finds you?" I spat, showing tough love because it was the only viable alternative. "Do you?" I asked again, only to be met with more silence. "Because history has proven that he's not a good guy and that he'll hurt you again, maybe worse this time. Are you going to let him get away with that?"

Clare had tears streaming down her face and I had all I could do to prevent the guilt from stopping me. Clare _needed_ to hear this, even if it would hurt her.

"You can't take the easy way out. The Clare Edwards I know would never stop defending herself. If you don't march in there and make a statement, you're letting him win. You're making it okay for him to hurt you again. You're a smart girl, make the smart decision."

"Please, stop," she begged, but I wasn't done.

"If you don't try to help yourself, no one else can help you. If you walk away from this, then you walk away from everything."

"What... what do you mean?"

"I mean that if you don't walk in there and tell the officers what you've been going through, I can't help you anymore, Clare. I can't be the person you call to pick you up and heal you. I can't be the person who puts you back together again. It kills me to see you hurt and I love you with all my heart, you know that. But if you won't help yourself, then I just can't do _this_ anymore."

To be honest, I wasn't even sure I would have been able to stick with the ultimatum if it came down to it. I issued it to put pressure on Clare, to give her more of an incentive to make the logical decision.

"Eli..." Clare started before bursting into sobs. I wanted to hold her in my arms, but I couldn't, not yet.

"What's it going to be, Clare?"

"Don't make me do this... Please."

I took a deep breath and slowly let her go out of my grasp, shrugging my shoulders.

"Fine," I responded, holding my hands palms up in front of me in surrender.

"F-fine?" She asked with confusion.

I nodded my head and took a few steps backwards, turning my attention to Fiona. "C'mon, Fi, let's go," I waved my hand to her and continued walking down the stone steps.

Fiona looked unsure of the situation and I silently prayed for her to trust me on this. I knew Clare more than anyone and I was certain this would work. After a few minutes, Fiona had taken her hand off of the door and made her way down to meet me. She eyed me suspiciously, but I kept my face impassive and my features stony.

"I guess I'll be seeing you, Clare," I stated. I would never leave her, but I knew this would break her, make her come around. I felt awful bullying her like this, but it had to be done.

"You're... leaving me?" Panic flooded her tone and I felt Fiona hesitate beside me.

"You don't need our help anymore," I responded evenly.

"Don't... don't..." she trailed off, her hands wringing each other painfully. "I'll go... I'll go in, please just don't leave."

I raised my eyebrows at her in mock surprise. "Are you sure, now?"

"Yes."

I walked back over to her, Fiona trailing behind me, her mouth opened a bit. I placed my arm around Clare's shoulder and pulled her close to me. Now that she had agreed to go through with it, I could comfort her. "Relax," I breathed in her ear, rubbing her biceps. "It'll be quick."

"The whole time, right?" I immediately knew what Clare was referring to and I gave her a small smirk.

"The whole time," I repeated, as we made our way through the door Fiona had once again held open.

I had never been more proud of Clare in my entire life.

No matter the outcome, she was one of the bravest people I had ever met.

* * *

_If_ I get 25 reviews, I will update in two days (since tomorrow's July 4th - Happy Fourth of July to all my American readers!). Part seven will be the final installment of _Safe Ride_.

I am working on a three-shot prequel to this, so please be on the lookout for that!

Reviews from wonderful _readers like you_ would be _greatly _appreciated! Love you guys and thanks for reading! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. I don't own the the characters, the plot, or Degrassi. If I had a mind as creative as that then I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction. :)

**Author's Notes**: Thank you all so, so much for your continued support. It really means a lot to me! Here's the final chapter of Safe Ride. I have posted the prequel, Bury the Hatchet, so if you haven't already, please check it out! Please read, review and enjoy and thank you for sticking in for the long haul with me through this!

Twitter = xomurxo

* * *

**SAFE RIDE**

**PART VII**

****_"I'll be everything and more when you call my name..."_

The verdict came as guilty. It was a relief to see the man who had haunted Clare for so long finally get what he had coming to him, but I couldn't say I was surprised by the outcome. Clare had her doubts throughout the trial, but I was certain that justice would be diligently doled out.

I had taken a seat at the back of the courtroom, to be there for Clare, but to distance myself as well. I had been afraid that if she had seen me, she would have stumbled, and I wanted nothing to distract her while she was on the witness stand. She had kept herself miraculously composed during questioning and I marveled at how strong she still was, despite everything she had endured. Asher hadn't stood a chance at coming out of that trial a free man, not with the conviction Clare held in her unwavering voice, or the pictures of her bruised body which stood as solid, unforgiving proof. Asher would be behind bars for a long time, not long enough in my opinion, but still, a long time.

I had slipped out of the courtroom early, to get my current spot at the side door, the one Clare would be using to avoid the press. As a journalist, that kind of spotlight was the last thing she needed. I stood there with my back leaning against the aging bricks, my hands shoved in my pockets to avoid the cold, and I waited.

When the door came flying open to reveal a suited man showing Clare the way out, I had expected to see a smile donning her face. I had expected to see relief etched all over her features, or at the very least, a little sliver of happiness. What I was met with I had been totally unprepared for. Clare was crying messily, her face pink, her nose runny and her eyes red-rimmed. All of the composure Clare had possessed in the courtroom had deteriorated, and instead, all I saw was vulnerability. Her shoulders were hunched, as if she wanted her body to close in on itself, and she painted a perfect portrait of misery.

"Clare?" I questioned, my eyes shining with confusion. I wanted to celebrate the news that Asher would be going to jail, but it looked like celebrations would not be occurring.

"I can't," she whispered, her eyes refusing to meet mine.

"What..."

"Eli. I just... can't," she placed a hand up, a sob erupting from her body, and she walked away.

"Isn't this... isn't this what you wanted?" I asked, my legs running in order to catch up to her. I didn't understand what had made her so upset. Sure, it was a hard day for her, but she had been victorious.

"Yes," she whispered in a low tone, a sniffle stifling the single syllable.

"Talk to me," I pleaded, my hand reaching for hers, desperate to get inside of Clare's head. I couldn't help her if she wouldn't let me and after all of this, I wasn't about to let go so easily.

"I..." I watched her hesitate, as if for a moment she was considering the idea of spilling her thoughts to me. But the next instant she was shaking her head, a mess of curls bouncing from side to side. "I have to get back to the hotel. My... My mom's meeting me there in a few hours."

"Let me walk you there," I instantly suggested, because even though Asher was off of the streets, there were plenty of other bad people out there and I wouldn't let any of them threaten Clare again.

"No, Eli. I would really prefer to walk alone."

Her gaze met mine for the first time and I saw the solid determination in her eyes. I knew that no matter what I said, Clare would not allow me to accompany her on her trip back to her hotel room. Maybe she needed that time alone to come to peace with everything that had happened, but I couldn't help but think of her statement as a slap in the face. I had been the one who had held her all night crying, the one to give her strength throughout the entire trial. I had been the one who had housed her, made lawyer appointments with her and cared for her for the past month. Yet as soon as the tribulation was over, I was the first person she chose to turn her back on.

I tried to keep my anger in check as I offered Clare a curt nod, attempting to radiate understanding rather than fury.

"At least let me pay for a cab, then."

Clare's gaze dropped to the ground and she gave a shy nod of consent as I hailed a taxi cab and handed over a few bills that would more than cover the fare for the short ride to the Roosevelt Hotel.

"Thank you," she whispered to me, before entering the cab and shutting the door. She hadn't even bothered to look me in the eyes. I felt that familiar sinking feeling, my mind telling me that I would probably never see her again. The very thought of her absence brought a film of tears to my eyes as I watched the taxi weave through the streets of New York City, before it was completely and despairingly out of my view.

* * *

Three days had passed and I had heard nothing from Clare. I wasn't really expecting to, but I had a ray of hope that she would come back, at least to say goodbye. I didn't know how long she was planning on staying in the city, but if she was leaving again, I wanted her to at least acknowledge it. I continued my life as usual, picking up stray journalistic projects which consumed most of my time. I spent an evening with Fiona, sharing a pizza and forced laughter, in a vain attempt to find normalcy once again. I spent the nights writing and the days sleeping. It was easier that way. It was easier to forget about Clare at night, when the darkness consumed me and I was left with the blaring screen of my laptop and my overactive imagination.

After a week had passed, I was sure that Clare was gone. Perhaps she had gone back home to Toronto to be with her family, or maybe she regained enough strength to re-enter the travel journalism field she had been so largely successful in. Wherever Clare was, I was certain it was no longer in New York and I was certain her mind was no longer occupied on me.

It was midnight when the irritating sound of my alarm clock woke me up. I had slept a solid twelve hours, yet I still needed some sort of aid in awakening myself. This bothered me. Was I falling into some sort of depression? Or was it just my changing sleep schedule and the pile of work I buried myself under getting the best of me?

I stretched myself across my bed and reached for my most treasured electronic item, opening my laptop and immediately checking my email. The screen was taking longer to load than usual and I found myself growing impatient. Patience was not something I had a lot of these days. My fingers drummed heavily on the keyboard in aggravation, believing that this delay, however short, would surely put me behind in my work for the day.

When the email finally loaded, the first email that caught my eye was from an unfamiliar web address. I clicked it cautiously, always paranoid about catching computer-destroying viruses, but too curious not to open it. On the screen was an email from Clare's boss. I could feel my heart pounding the more I read, worry seeping from my pores.

I was listed as Clare's emergency contact, the email said. Clare was supposed to have resumed work five days ago, but she hadn't showed up. They were concerned about Clare's whereabouts and about Clare's health, asking if I knew anything, to please give them a phone call. I felt a sharp pain in my chest, panic, I realized, setting in.

Without a rational thought coursing through my brain, I picked up my jacket and left my apartment. My subconscious knew where I had to go and I was well assured that it would get me there.

* * *

I knocked on the hotel door in front of me, number 1140, just as reception had said. My suspicions were correct, Clare Edwards was still a registered guest of the Roosevelt Hotel and had no checkout date in the near future.

I knew it was late and I knew I was taking a huge risk, but I had to make sure she was okay.

I saw the door open a bit, before familiar eyes were peeking at me through the slit. I heard the faint click of a lock turn before Clare was revealed to me, a complete disheveled mess.

"Eli..." Her hoarse voice croaked and I wondered just how long it had been since Clare had exercised her vocal chords. "What are you doing here?" Her tone wasn't accusatory or mad, but rather... relieved.

"I got an email from your work. They're worried about you, you haven't shown up in nearly a week."

Clare didn't say anything but opened the door wide, allowing me to enter. The room was neat, the only thing used was the bed. I reached to turn the light on, but Clare protested.

"No, please!"

I clicked the switch anyways.

She looked terrible. Dark circles had formed under her eyes and she had lost weight, I was sure of it. Even if it had only been a week since I had last seen her, the change was dramatic.

"Oh Clare," I whispered, my heart aching for her. I heard her start to cry as she buried her face in her hands. "Come on," I ushered gently, reaching an arm out to guide her to the sitting area in the corner of the room. "Come on," I repeated just as softly, settling her down in an armchair.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a bag, a bag I had picked up from a convenience store on the way. Inside was food, a Pop Tart, a banana, a cereal bar, the average convenience store classics. It wasn't much, but I knew Clare needed some sort of nourishment.

I unpeeled the banana and brought it to her mouth. She took it from me and began eating it without instruction. I hated that it came down to this, but I didn't know what else to do.

She ate slowly and when she was done, she gave me a strange look, one I hadn't seen from her in a long, long time.

"Don't leave, Eli."

"I'm not going anywhere," I reassured, intent on sleeping on the floor to watch over her, to see with my own two eyes that she was and would be alright.

"No, I mean..." Clare stuttered, clearing her throat nervously. "Don't leave _me_. I... I need you. I..."

"Clare, you're under stress, you're not thinking properly."

"No! I... I love you, Eli. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, okay?" I spoke, unwilling to believe her words. She always pulled me back in just to push me away again. I was done with the games.

"I can't... I can't be without you."

I swallowed hard, and looked away, silence enveloping us for a long time before I spoke. "Do you really mean that?"

"I do."

I nodded my head and gestured towards the bed. "I think you should get some sleep, Clare. We can figure everything else out tomorrow."

I watched her get up from the chair and lay down, pulling the blankets snugly around her body. "You'll be here?"

"I'll be here. Get some rest."

"Okay," she offered the tiniest of smiles, but it was enough to warm me with hope.

* * *

I woke up this morning, groggy and tired, my body aching from the long night we had.

I reached over to kiss Clare's cheek and to tuck a curl behind her ear.

I always marveled at how beautiful my wife of two years was.

I would never not love Clare Edwards-Goldsworthy.

She was my everything.

* * *

Reviews from wonderful _readers like you_ would be _greatly _appreciated! Love you guys and thanks for reading! :)

Reminder: _Bury the Hatchet_, the prequel to this, was published yesterday. I will be updating it as soon as it gets ten reviews, so go check it out. ;)


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